


all that's known

by starblessed



Category: The Greatest Showman (2017)
Genre: Backstory, F/M, Trapeze Tricks, pretty much all my headcanon backstory for anne thats all this is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-10
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-03-03 00:12:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13329390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starblessed/pseuds/starblessed
Summary: Anne doesn’t like to talk about the past.In a lot of ways, Phillip admires that. Some days, he wonders if Anne feels trapped by her history in the same way he does. On other days he can’t tell if her past holds any tether on her at all.





	all that's known

**Author's Note:**

> written for a prompt over at my [tumblr](http://abroholoselephanta.tumblr.com/), where i'm still accepting TGS prompts (not just anne/phillip!) this is literally all just anne appreciation and wheeler family headcanons, but i hope y'all enjoy it!

“How did you learn to fix your hair like that?” he asks one night, in the dressing room after Anne has just lifted her wig off. Her waterfall of dark curls are braided close to her head, held up by an abundance of pins which she deftly pulls out one by one.

Her hands go still. In the mirror, her eyes refuse to meet his. She takes a deep breath, fingers glancing over her braid, before a small smile spreads across her face.

“My Mamma taught me,” she replies.

* * *

 

Anne doesn’t like to talk about the past.

In a lot of ways, Phillip admires that. He doesn’t like to dwell on his history either, and tries his damndest not to; but often he feels like the person he used to be still has a hold on him. An echo of that well-bred bitterness  
lingers; that hollow inside of him that was previously filled with silver and liquor now swells with glitter and spotlights, yet it still exists. He can keep moving forward, but the past will always be a part of him.

Some days, he wonders if Anne feels the same way. On other days he can’t tell if her past holds any tether on her at all.

“Where did you live?” he asked once (in the early stages of their relationship, before he learned how much she disliked small talk, and loved being the one to ask questions). “Before you joined the circus.”

“Here and there,” she answered, rolling her shoulders. She spared him one last glance before leaning back in her hoop and soaring up, out of his reach. That was the only answer he got from her.

“W.D. is older by how many years? Do you have any more siblings?” he tried another time. Anne just looked at him from beneath lowered eyelids, as if she could see right through his clumsy attempts at learning more about her.

“Just us,” she answered. The emphasis she placed on the _‘just’_ told Phillip that she wasn’t only talking about siblings. “W.D. was born four years ahead of me.”

“You’re not that close in age, then.”

“No, I guess not. We're close anyways.” Anne watched him carefully for a beat, as if gauging what he’d do next. Phillip inexplicably cracked under the pressure; her stare robbed him of his voice. When one of the performers suddenly called out her name, Anne jumped up, barely sparing him another glance. “Sounds like my cue.”

Phillip could only stare after her, puzzling over the enigma that is Anne Wheeler.

Getting close to her is difficult enough; reaching into her past seems next to impossible. He will always respect her privacy, but it’s difficult when he just wants to learn more about her. History shapes a person, after all; years of prep schools and wealthy galas have taught Phillip that. If only he could learn where Anne _came from._ Maybe he’d be able to see into her mind more, figure out more ways to help her be comfortable with him.

That will only happen, he knows, if she decides to open up to him in the first place. He finds himself doubting that will _ever_ happen.

Until he asks about her hair. 

* * *

 

“Mamma loved hair. She used to like to do hers in all sorts of ways. I think her favorite part of having a daughter was someone else whose hair she could play with.”

Anne words fall like honey dripping from a spoon In the empty big top, her voice seems to echo. Inside of her trapeze ring, she swings her legs just at Phillip’s eye level.

He takes the hint and gives her a tiny nudge. The momentum sends her spinning languidly through the air, reversing directions. She hums to herself and shifts, looping her arms around the top of her ring.

“I used to hate it. I was one of those kids who could never sit still. I’d squirm and twist all around, hardly letting her do it. She got so much grief from me…”

She laughs softly, but there’s a sad tinge to her smile. Phillip remains quiet, too hesitant to even whisper a question. The Wheeler parents are another mystery he hasn’t been given any clues to. All he knows is that they once were, and no longer are.

He takes hold of Anne’s leg and begins to guide her around the arena, walking in a broad circle. She sighs, soothed by the aerial motion. “We lost her just before I turned fifteen. Consumption. She didn’t hang on long, so there wasn’t much suffering. That was good.”

 _I’m sorry_ dances on the top of Phillip’s tongue; but he knows the words won’t come out sounding the way he means them. Anne doesn’t want his sympathy. Instead, he just reaches up and squeezes her hand. She squeezes back, giving him a small smile.

“Is it alright if I ask something?”

That’s when Anne does the most unbelievable thing of all; she _laughs._ It’s this, more than anything, that almost convinces Phillip that he’s dreaming. “Go ahead,” she replies, shaking her head. “At this moment, I’m your open book. Ask whatever you want.”

“Alright.” He’s has so many questions swirling around for a long time. There’s a lot he wants to know. Now that the moment is in his hands, he’s not sure how to begin. “What, um — what did your parents do?”

Anne leans back in the air, holding on to the outside of the ring. “Daddy was a gardener,” she hums. “He came from down South. We don’t know how he got up North, he never talked about it… but it couldn’t have been easy for him. He and Mamma worked in the same house for years — Mamma was a maid. That’s how they met each other.” She smiles. “Mamma used to say that Daddy gave her a flower the minute he saw her, said she was prettier than anything that ever grew. He gave her flowers ‘til the day he died.”

“How did he…” Phillip stops, swallowing hard. This topic is probably lethal as a stick of dynamite.

Surprising him again, Anne just shrugs. “I was only a year old — maybe less, I don’t know. He went off to fight in the war, and never came back. W.D. has real memories. The only thing I have of him are flowers.”

Phillip wants nothing more than to wipe the rueful little smile from her face. “So your mother raised you both, then?”

“Mmm-hmm. Looked after the Patterson kids too — the Pattersons, that’s the house where she worked after Daddy died. They had rooms for the servants, and we grew up there.” She crinkles her nose. “The kids were awful. Parents were even worse. Me and W.D., though… we didn’t mind. That house was so big. They had high staircases and tall, tall trees we could swing from… Mamma was terrified we’d break our necks. We had a few near-misses, sure, but neither of us liked staying on the ground. After a while, we got good enough that she wasn’t scared anymore.”

“Mothers will always be scared.” Phillip remembers his own mother — suffocating as she was, it’s hard to forget the hurt and worry that brimmed in her eyes the last time he spoke to her. On bad days, he finds himself almost missing her. (He never has that problem with his father.)

Anne laughs again. “You’re right,” she says, and swings her leg. This time, Phillip spins her wider. She reels like a top in the air, arms flying out on either side of her. She looks free as a bird; for a second, Phillip feels breathless. Anne is beautiful and _human_ on the ground; but in the air, she is nothing short of ethereal.

She performs a series of trick maneuvers, pulling herself head over heels, lifting and lowering herself back to the ground. She is secretly a show-off. She loves proving to Phillip that she is a master in the air, and will never pass up an opportunity to do so. He laughs as she soars around him, her outstretched hand grazing his cheek.

When he catches her, it’s so sudden that they’re both taken by surprise. Anne’s eyes are wide and amused; Phillip huffs at the force of her body slamming into his, but recovers in the next second. He rests his chin on her chest, blinking up at her. “Tell me more,” he urges. “I want to know everything.”

She raises her eyebrow. _“Everything_ would make for an awfully long story.”

“It’s a story about you. I’d listen to it forever,” Phillip reasons. She shakes her head, cupping the side of his face. Her hands are not soft — they are rough with callouses, worn from hauling herself up countless ropes and trapeze bars. No touch has ever made him feel so warm.

“Well,” she sighs. For a moment, she chews on her words, before shaking her head. “I’m bad at telling stories, especially ones about me. I don’t do it much.”

 _Never_ would be more accurate, but they both realize that. Phillip hopes Anne knows that she can tell him anything.

She finally continues, slow and careful. “After Mamma died, the Patterson’s were willing to hire me to take her place. I’d been helping there already, without pay — but I’d rather die than work in somebody else’s house. I hated it there, couldn’t wait to leave. W.D. had a lot of jobs. He was a builder, hauled crates by the dock, even worked with a few horses — but finding work was tough for him. After about a month, we decided to go.”

“On your own?”

“Just the two of us,” she confirms. A hint of pride gleamed in her eyes. “We travelled most of the coast after that. We saw Maine, Massachusetts, New Jersey, Connecticut… just taking whatever job we could get. Factories wouldn’t hire us, so all we could find was work in homes, or hard labor. W.D. did that. I cleaned for a rich lady for a little while...“ Her face twists in disgust. “Nasty old bat. Then I cooked —“

“Oh _no,”_ Phillip chuckles. Anne swats at him.

“You can guess how long that lasted. Finding work was tough. For a long time it seemed like… we’d never find a place where we’d belong.”

The Wheelers are here now, though. Through a stroke of luck and opportune timing, they found the circus. They found a home. They found a family, and people who love them.

Anne doesn’t fail to realize this either. She leans in to press a kiss to Phillip’s forehead. When she pulls away, her eyes are unimaginably gentle. “And now I’ve got somebody I can tell my stories to. Never thought I’d get that.”

“I’m always here to listen,” Phillip murmurs. “As long as you need me. Whatever you want to say.”

Anne raises an eyebrow. “Even if I want to do nothing but complain about you?”

“Please,” Phillip scoffs, “do your worst.” God knows he’s thought as many awful things about himself in the middle of his old drinking binge. Harsh words from Anne’s lips would almost sound like compliments.

She grins again, looping her arms around his neck. He catches her waist, and lifts her easily out of her hoop. When he settles her on the ground, she still holds tight to him. Phillip brushes a stray curl out of her face, and she exhales against his lips.

“It feels good,” she murmurs. “For someone to know where I came from.”

“To tell somebody,” he answers. “Sometimes that can be the best way to lighten a burden.”

“You got burdens of your own you wanna share, Carlyle?”

He laughs. “I’m an open book. But maybe… maybe another time.”

When she reaches in to kiss him, her lips taste like fruit and sugar. He leans into her embrace, relishing every bit of _Anne_ he’s able to hold in his arms. Knowing her better makes him feel like they’re even closer than before — bound not just by love, by fate, by the show, but by a mutual understanding that goes beyond experience.

Getting to know Anne Wheeler, he decides, is worth waiting for a eternity.


End file.
